


Flower Petal Honor Society

by bonniebarko



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art School, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dialogue Heavy, Dirty Jokes, Dirty Talk, Dorms, Drunken Flirting, Drunkenness, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Explicit Sexual Content, Losers Club (IT) Friendship, M/M, Masturbation Interruptus, Mike Hanlon is a Good Friend, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Stanley Uris is So Done, myra kaspbrak doesnt exist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:19:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22270177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonniebarko/pseuds/bonniebarko
Summary: "If you are good at drawing or painting, art school is not for you because you will eventually become a trembling, drooling, crying shadow of your former self." -Urban DictionaryA Reddie/IT art school AU except they both suck at art and school. It takes place in the 90s and everyone is an asshole.Warning for sexual content, mental illness, etc. Chapter titles are song titles because how else would i name them
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 7
Kudos: 38





	1. Teenagers from Mars (Original 1778 Recording)

**Author's Note:**

> edit: my dumbass forgot that they didn't have Web Design majors in 1994 because they didn't have the internet so yeah fuck it Eddie likes taking pretty pictures now. photography time

He knew, the very second he entered the room, that Richie Tozier was going to be a piece of work.

And even that was an understatement.

It was Moving In Week, the week where all the incoming freshmen gathered together in the front of the campus, found their dorms, and set up all their various doohickeys and chachke that they'd accumulated over the years. You were supposed to meet your roommate prior, or at least become aware of their presence, but Eddie was so stressed with moving out that it didn't even pass his mind.

That was his first mistake.

It was too late to switch roommates, of course unless there was something severely difficult about staying with the guy. He wasn't a serial killer or anything, and he certainly didn't look like a criminal, but the vibe he emitted was one that constantly toyed with Eddie's buttons. He was like a toddler in front of a piano--he knew the exact keys to press to get Eddie riled up and distracted.

He was sitting there, almost completely naked except for the two-sizes-too-large Street Fighter T-shirt, briefs, and purple bunny slippers, flipping through a magazine on his bed. His lips were pursed, and even when Eddie came in and dropped his bags, Richie didn't bat an eye and kept reading. Finally, when Eddie shot him a confused look, Richie noticed him and put down the magazine, smiling at him.

"Hey, pal," he said, mockingly, almost sneering when he said it. He extended his hand, practically begging for it to be shaken. "What's your name?"

Eddie let the hand hang in the air for a few moments, eyeing it suspiciously. He didn't return the handshake, on account of being too weirded out by the whole display, and instead turned to unpacking his luggage. "Eddie Kaspbrak. Photography."

"Oh, so it's gonna be like that, huh?" He dropped his hand and picked the magazine back up, unwrinkling the pages with his thumb. "Richie Tozier. Undecided."

Richie Tozier. That was his name, and although he would've loved to forget it, it was certainly a pretty name. It was definitely an art school name, and suddenly Eddie's mind was empty. There was nothing to say to that.

Luckily, Richie had him covered.

"You know, the second I saw you, I knew you were a Photography major. You give off that kind of... vibe. You don't look like an art kid." He didn't know what to say to that, but Richie continued nonetheless. "I mean, don't get me wrong, you don't look all too bright either, but you look capable enough, you know? Capable enough not to be a... I don't know, like... A Music major or something."

"And you do look like you're undecided about a lot of things."

"Why don't you think I'm wearing clothes? That's a lot of decisions!" He rose from the bed, groggy and messy, as if he were asleep for days. "Did you meet the other floor mates?"

"The... what?" He turned to follow Richie as he practically kicked open the door and peered into the hallway.

"Stan! Stan the Man! I know you're not jerking it this early in the day."

There was a loud ruckus of footsteps and yelling before another person's voice could be heard clearly in the hallway. "If you bring that up one more time, I'll fucking cut you. I won't hesitate. I'm serious. Stop laughing."

Richie pushed the door open further so Eddie could see a tall, lanky man walk towards them. It must have been Stan, whoever that was. He was skinny and pale, with curly, stuttering hair atop a pointy face. He definitely didn't look like a person you'd refer to as "Stan the Man", or anything other than Stanley. He was a basic, clean-cut boy with clear skin and deep eye-bags. "Stan and me went to high school together. He was there during The Neck Brace Incident."

Eddie lowered his eyes. "Excuse me?"

Stan groaned, "It's exactly what it sounds like," and left it at that.

While Stan and Richie discussed the wonders of the universe, Eddie shoved the door closed with his hip and slid down against it until he was sitting on the floor. He faced the empty room and exhaled, finally taking it all in, finally getting a moment of muffled silence.

MalArts. It was only the top art school on the eastern seaboard, situated above Portland but below Brunswick. Not to be confused with CalArts, the art school on the western seaboard. This one was a lot less renowned and a lot less expensive. It was also a hub of conceited assholes who weren't forced to go their by their overbearing mothers, but he digressed.

Speaking of assholes, there was a knock at the door, cutting off Eddie's moment of silence. "Hey, Edward! I'm not exactly a fan of standing out here in my underwear."

He rose quickly and unlocked the door, blushing immensely. He didn't say anything in response as Richie slid past him and returned to his position on the bed, unfolding the magazine again and examining it.

Richie didn't change for the rest of the day, and he definitely didn't leave his room. He spent hours just flipping through the magazine, occasionally sending glances at Eddie as he unpacked his things. A normal person would assume Richie was watching them, but not Eddie. He lived with enough weird people in his life to assume he was just being weird. It was an art school after all.

It was around six PM when Eddie finally could consider himself unpacked.

Unpacking was no normal feat. You couldn't just shove your clothes into a drawer and throw a bag of chips on the dresser. No sir. You had to first clean the room, and when you realize you forgot your miniature vacuum cleaner at your mom's house, you'd have to go around the hall asking for one. Once you finally finished cleaning your space, you would have to vacuum up the chips that your roommate flicked at you in an attempt to get on your nerves.

"Come on. We're just having a little fun here," was his only excuse.

Then the actual unpacking began. Dress shirts, jeans, slacks, cargo pants, socks, tube socks, knee socks, running shorts (in red, yellow, and blue), flannels, polos, tank tops and wife beaters, vests, gloves for formal wear and snowy weather, snow pants, parkas, light jackets, windbreakers, boxers, briefs, boxer briefs, swimwear, pajama bottoms, pajama tops, large T-shirts for pajama tops (in need be), and an assortment of fanny packs. And that was only his first bag.

His second bag was for his medications. Pills, creams, ointments, and EpiPens, all packed neatly into plastic bags and tightly packed into his luggage. However, below all his B-12 tablets and pill packaging was The Bag. He packed that one without his mother's knowledge and sealed it far below the rest.

Of course, when he pulled out The Bag, as discreetly as he tried, Richie Tozier could smell fear. He limbered over to him, away from his assumed position on the bed, and nabbed it from his grip. "Hey, buddy, why're you shaking like that?"

Oh shit, he was shaking. And he was shaking bad. He didn't even notice it.

He didn't respond and grabbed the bag back. "Shouldn't you be unpacking?"

"'Shouldn't you be unpacking'?" he mocked before gesturing to the bag. "What's in the bag?" He crossed his arms.

"Why do you care?" he said after a while, meekly.

"Look, I don't care. I smoked plenty of it in high school."

"You... What?"

"The weed. I know there's weed in that," he laughed, grabbing it back. Before Eddie could stop him, Richie ripped open the small black bag and looked inside, his eyes widening. "Okay, that's not weed."

There were three boxes of condoms, all Trojan, all latex, and a bottle of Durex. Richie bit his lip before laughing, trying to break the awkward silence. "Jeez, Eds. A real freak over here."

Eddie practically tore the bag back from him. "I'd like if you didn't call me that."

He put his hands up defensively. "What? Never been called Eds before?"

"No, dipshit. A freak."

"I didn't mean it in, like, a bad way," he argued as Eddie turned away, shoving the bag back into his bedside drawer. "I meant it in a sexual way. Like, you're-drowning-in-pussy kind of sexual way."

"Look, I don't know if this living arrangement is gonna work."

"Minor inconvenience aside, I feel like we have good chemistry, Edward," he said, sitting back down on his bed, his legs crossed. "Or at least we can. Listen, if you run out of condoms, you can always borrow mine, free of charge. They're natural. Lambskin."

"Thanks, but lambskin condoms don't protect against STDs."

He snorted. "Of course they do, stupid. They're condoms."

He didn't respond to that and instead finally sat down on his bed, finished with his unpacking escapades. "You know they're made from sheep intestines, right?"

"...From what?"

Eddie shook his head and changed the subject. "Whatever. Where're you from, anyway?"

He smiled proudly. "Bangor. I'm so glad I'm outta that shithole."

"I'm from Portland," he murmured and lowered his voice, repeating himself, "I'm from Portland."

"You don't look like it. You look like you crawled outta a back alley in Augusta," he laughed, although he didn't think it was that funny. Eddie shot him a dull look. "So... Photography. What made you pick that?"

He shrugged. "I wasn't real good at anything else. I thought it'd be easy."

"Art school makes everything easy difficult," Richie groaned, his leg jumping at his spoke. He was a lanky guy, too skinny in some places and defined in others. He had fluffy, curly hair that covered his forehead and thick-rimmed glasses. He was still wearing that Street Fighter shirt--the one with a red-ribbon wearing martial arts master on the front, screaming and throwing a punch. He had luckily kicked the slippers off to the side.

"I'll drink to that," Eddie groaned, cradling his jaw in his hand.

That lit Richie up, sending a shock down his spine as he smiled. "You wanna?"

"I wanna what?"

"You wanna get shitfaced?" he smiled, rising from the bed. "We can go out, or we can stay here. Nothing like a good brewski with the boys."

Eddie rolled his eyes and put his hands up. "No, no. I'm finally getting settled. I don't wanna make a bad impression."

Richie voice got quiet and whisper-y, but he was still almost screaming. "Listen, virgin. Everybody here does crack cocaine and LSD. We're the good ones, brother."

"I seriously doubt that."

"There's a traphouse three blocks away from here. I can get a brick in two days if I really wanted." He raised a finger as he lowered himself, pulling an icebox out from under his bed. "But I don't, because the last thing my body needs is more energy."

Oh, boy.

He pulled out two ice-cold bottles of brew, extending one to Eddie, who shook his head. "I really shouldn't."

"It's one beer. What? You can't handle a little booze?"

"It's six-thirty in the fucking afternoon. No, I don't want booze."

"Then do you wanna go out tonight? You prefer getting shitfaced in public?" He sat back down and popped open the cap, bringing the tip to his lips and sipping. Richie's eyes were blown out and settled, watching him, unblinking.

He shook his head again. "I'm not the partying type--"

"Neither am I! We're really similar, Eds."

"You? And me?" He shook his head wildly. "No, no, we are not similar. Not in the slightest. I'm not even sure you're human."

He tipped the bottle back, taking another sip as he smiled. "Whatever. We can just stay in. The offer's still on, though."

"What offer?"

He rolled his eyes and groaned, as if it were the dumbest thing he had ever had the graciousness to witness. "To get shitfaced, dumbass. I usually do it with Stan and then we play Street Fighter on my SNES, but he's with Bill tonight." Eddie didn't know what half that sentence meant.

"You know," he said before a long pause, "If it gets me to finally relax with you around, fuck it. Yeah, let's do it."

Richie gave a yip before handing him the bottle. "Welcome to college."

It was nine PM and Eddie was almost completely blitzed. Richie, on the other hand, was barely keeping himself together.

"So then... Me and Bill, right? We..." He croaked slightly, before admitting, "I lost my train of... thought."

"Do you do this every night?" Eddie slurred, but not quite. He figured one more beer wouldn't hurt, and then he would bid the funny stuff adieu. "Get drunk and play video games and wait three months and then flunk out?"

"I made it through high school," he laughed, dropping his last bottle into the trash before sitting back, propping himself up by his elbows. They were sitting on opposite beds--Eddie's tightly made and pressed, Richie's covered in shirts and blankets and pillows--and had been laughing about nothing for the majority of two hours. Richie was funny, but only when he didn't mean to be.

Richie was giving him these lazy eyes, as if he was trying to squint at him but the muscles in his face wouldn't tighten. Finally, he bit his lip and cracked his neck, asking out of the blue, "Okay, so what's the masturbation arrangement?"

Eddie spit out his sip of beer onto the floor, a mess he'd obviously have to clean up later, and stared at Richie with wild amusement. Sober, he would've been pissed, but now it was just funny. "Excuse me?"

"We're sleepin' together, right? When do I get to jerk off and when do you?"

"When you're alone! Like everyone else."

Richie shook his head, smiling. "No, Stan and Bill already set it up. Bill jerks off Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays. Stan cranks it Tuesdays, Thursday, and Saturdays."

"Wait, wait... Bill get one more day."

"Bill's also single."

"What do they do while the other one's...?"

He nods, understanding as he takes another sip. "Depending on the time, they text the other when they're done and they punch this time card. At the end of the month, the days you don't use get rolled over, so you can jerk off more later."

Eddie thought this over before asking, "Is that true?"

"No! Of course it's not!" he laughed, smacking his knee as he downed the rest of the bottle. "Imagine people actually did that shit... No, no. What I'm saying is," he paused for a long time as his eyes almost rolled back, "I am super horny right now and I'm asking you... to leave."

Eddie narrowed his eyes, disposing of his last bottle. "Where am I supposed to go?"

He nodded his head over in the opposite general direction. "One of the other rooms. Or outside. A club, perhaps. Unless you want to stay here and hear me belt like a donkey. Ee-aw, Ee-aw," he mocked, his drunken expression melting in and out of a smile.

"Why would you be horny? Like, right now?"

"'Cause you're so cute, Eds. You got me feelin' all warm and shit," he slurred, still propped up by his elbows. That made Eddie blush hard, enough to get a stream of sweat down his back. "Anyway, go over to Stan's room. Keep him company."

Eddie didn't know how to respond to any of this. Maybe he was being complimented by this guy for once, or maybe this was an elaborate joke that he'd walk straight into and fall on his ass. Either way, it'd give him another excuse to send a new roommate request form, so he figured he would win in the end regardless.

He rose slowly, keeping his eyes on Richie as he continued to gesture to the door. "Come on. Get at 'em, boy."

Eddie left the room, pushing the door closed slowly behind him. He heard Richie groan loudly from the other side of the room, more in a joking way than anything else, and now Eddie had a choice. He could either venture off to this Stan guy's room and sleep there overnight, or he could go wander the MalArts campus until he figured Richie would be done. Both seemed like Godawful scenarios.

At least Stan's room would be air conditioned. He hoped.

He walked across the hall and cautiously knocked on the door. It had "Uris & Denbrough" written on a whiteboard on the door and a quote below it: "Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly." Below that was a printed out picture of Stan, taken when he was pissing at a urinal and he noticed a camera taking a photo of him.

He heard a tired, "Come in," from inside and noticed the door was slightly ajar. He nudged it open with his foot, cautious yet curious, and entered Stan's room. Well, it wasn't just Stan's room, apparently. There was another guy sitting on the bottom bunk of their living arrangement, flipping through a number of folders and whispering under his breath. Stan was doing a jigsaw puzzle on the floor.

"...Hi."

"Hello," Stan replied, almost too boldly to be a proper introduction. He looked up from his position on the floor and gave Eddie a look. "Aren't you Rich's roommate?"

He nodded quickly. "Yeah. He kicked me out."

"W-W-Why would he do that?" the other guy asked, lowering the folders into his lap. "We should kick his a-ass, Stan."

"He was..." Eddie didn't know how to explain it, so he made an obscene gesture with his fist. Stan and Bill's eyes widened before the two began snickering, which then developed into full, obnoxious laughter. "Yeah..." he nervously laughed, feeling awkwardly stiff standing in front of the door.

"Richie's such an a-asshole," Bill muttered, returning to his folders.

Stan interjected, "Yeah, I wouldn't want to be there, either. Stay here if you want."

Eddie nodded and awkwardly sat down on the floor next to Stan, cross-legged and sticking out like a sore thumb. He watched as Stan tried a puzzle piece, figured out it didn't fit, and tried another one. This went on for a minute or two before Bill spoke up.

"What's your n-n-name?"

"Eddie. Eddie Kaspbrak."

"Major?" Stan asked, raising his eyebrows, still staring at the puzzle.

"Photography. You?"

Stan pointed to the other. "Bill here is a Fine Arts major, and I'm in Fine Arts Management. So, in conclusion, I'll still be pulling Bill's ass around when we get out of here." He rolled his eyes and finished a corner of the puzzle, bothered. "Have you met Mike yet? Or Ben?"

"Or Beverly?" Bill asked, a little too quietly to hear.

"No. Just Richie."

"What a painful existence that would be," Stan groaned, fitting in another piece. "Just knowing Richie. Let me guess... You got drunk. I can smell it on your breath. Drunk on the first day."

"It's not the first day. We're just getting settled," Eddie argued, the room slightly spinning from underneath him. He was keeping is composure, albeit haphazardly. "I'm not drunk. Richie is drunk. I'm just a little tipsy."

"You're gonna be a little t-tipsy for the rest of college. G-Get used to it." Bill finally finished sorting whatever he had to sort and chucked the folders underneath the bunk bed. "We should get Mike here. Make it a p-p-party."

"You know, you're right. Go knock on his door. I'll keep Short Stack company," he said, eyeing Eddie as he slightly uncoiled.

"That guy's shorter than me, though." He didn't mean it to come out exasperated.

"Oh, Bill? He has tall energy. You're just short," Stan replied as Bill exited, disappearing into the hallway. "You're gonna like Mike. Everybody does."

A minute of complete silence later, Bill reentered with a tall, broad man by his side, a warm smile on his face. It had to be Mike. He was wearing a plaid button-up and slacks, as if he were preparing to head out any second, and had a backpack of books strapped to his back. Some were sketchbooks, but Bill made it clear none of them were Mike's. The second Mike put the pack down, Bill withdrew three sketchbooks and slid them under the bunk bed.

He waved to Stan with a dark, strong hand. "Hey! How's Patricia?"

"Is that how everyone's gonna greet me these days?" he said, smiling as he did a pre-rehearsed handshake with the taller man. Eddie sat and watched, dumbfounded and confused. "I get a hot girlfriend and everyone thinks I'm chop liver."

Mike shot Eddie a dreamy look. "Who's the little guy?"

Eddie furrowed his eyebrows before relaxing them. There was no use fighting it. "Eddie Kaspbrak. Photography."

"You gotta stop greeting people like that, man," Stan said quietly and concerned, a smile on his face. "Say something like, 'Hi, I'm Eddie. Nice to meet you.'"

"Stan, you have no r-r-right to make fun of Eds' social s-skills."

"Whatever," Eddie interjected. "What's your major, Mike?"

"Major in Journalism, minor in Creative Writing," he said, smiling. "I was planning on a double major, but I couldn't fit in my schedule."

"Mike's a busy man," Stan murmured, adding another puzzle piece.

Mike glanced around the room before asking, "Hey, where's Rich?"

Stan pointed in the hallway's general direction. "In his room, choking his chicken."

"I didn't need all the details, Stan," Mike said, scratching the back of his neck. "I seriously doubt he'd actually be doing that, especially if he told you he was going to."

"So, what? We should plan a r-r-raid?"

Mike lowered his eyes and smiled at Eddie. He had a cool, calm way of speaking--a way that could persuade anyone to do anything. "Eddie, what should we do?"

Stan snapped, "We should knock on his door, that's what."

Eerie, devious smiles filled the room as Eddie watched the three boys rise. Almost in unison, they started chuckling and heading to the door, where they leaked out into the hallway towards Richie's room. Mike stayed in the doorway of Stan's room, however, and Eddie just didn't leave. "Guys--"

It was too late. He heard a sudden rapping against a door and then hushed laughter. It had begun.

There was a minute of silence before Eddie heard the door creak open. He wasn't watching--he didn't want to see what could be on the other side--and instead concentrated on the bird puzzle Stan was working on. A stout blue canary sitting on a branch, eyes black and blown out, not a worry in the world. He was around halfway finished with it.

Suddenly there was a loud ruckus from the hallway and a loud hammering from the door. "Can't a guy just get some privacy? For once in his life?"

"You scared the little g-guy away! He's suckin' his thumb in the other r-room!" he heard Bill laugh.

"So I should've let him stay? Huh? I'll show you guys something really scary."

There was a brief silence before the sound of fabric on skin and a loud yelp from Bill. "It's the f-f-first fucking day!"

"Well, I don't got a roommate to jerk me off like you and Stan got."

Eddie heard a slap and then light rough-housing from the hallway. He had half a mind to get up and see what was happening, but the thought was quickly quenched when Richie stumbled into the room, a pair of sweatpants sagging halfway down his thighs, his boxers up tightly as if he just threw them on. He slammed the door behind him and leaned against it, holding it shut.

He was smiling at Eddie deviously, but also with a hint of venom. "You ratted me out, you snitch."

"No I didn't! You kicked me out."

"You didn't have to tell them what I was doing," he groaned, clicking the lock on the door and relaxing off of it. Someone was pounding on the door. "I thought I could trust you, sweetheart."

Sweetheart.

"Anyway, I'm gonna wait until Bill cools off. I think they're gonna run off to Au Bon, so we got some time to kill until then." He slid down to the floor, now to Eddie's level. "Whattya wanna do?"

"Honestly, I just wanna--" He meant to say "sleep", but his words got caught in his throat when he noticed Richie's sweatpants had bunched up around his knees and he was still obviously hard. "I just want to, uh..."

"You wanna go through Bill's sketchbook with me?" Richie's eyes lit up, a smile on his face. He still wasn't aware.

He gulped and nodded slowly. "Uh, yeah. Sure." Invasion of privacy be damned.

Richie smiled--that damn, wide, satisfying smile--and cross the room to the bunk bed. He knelt down and pulled one of the ringed sketchbooks out from the pile, making sure it was the most worn one with the most rips and duct tape. When he turned back, he was still oblivious to his crotch.

He must have noticed. Maybe he was just being an asshole.

Anyway, Richie sat down beside him, almost a little bit too close, and flipped open the sketchbook. He was probably looking for something in particular--maybe some anatomy studies or crappy doodles, drawings of breasts or thighs or pelvises. Maybe that's why he wanted to look through it, just for some more jerk-off material. After all, he did have a slightly lewd Chun-Li poster in his room.

"I actually really like Bill's stuff," Richie admitted, "But he refuses to draw anything nude. Even when they do, like, figure studies, he draws clothes over the naughty bits. It drives his teacher crazy."

Well, that answers that.

He flipped to a noticeably blank page and had a wicked smile on his face. "I'm gonna draw you, Eds," he snickered, grabbing a random Sharpie from off the floor. "It's gonna be great."

"Should you be drawing in his sketchbook?"

"I've drawn a lot worse on his skin. Plus, I'm a great artist," Richie laughed, beginning to draw a crude face with his thick marker. "Hey, it already looks like you," he says, making the guys legs short enough to almost connect his pelvis to his ankles.

"Fuck off."

"I should be a Fine Arts major. I'm a visionary."

"You sure are something," Eddie murmured, watching as Richie finished his obscene drawing. His dick had finally calmed down, thank God, and Eddie could focus on something else. Not like he was actually focusing on Richie's dick, but he digressed.

"Shut up, cupcake," he crooned mockingly, adding Eddie's inhaler to his little, crudely-drawn hand. "Whatever. You're stuck with me. We're gonna get along great."


	2. Last Caress (Original 1978 Recording)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for porn. nobody gets their back blown out but you know. good ol felattio, baby

It was a month in and Richie was still, as one would guess, insufferable. Absolutely insufferable. However, sometimes there were glimmers of hope, little shines that indicated he might be capable of not being a jackass. Nevertheless, these were few and far between, and more often than not everything about him made Eddie want to pull out his hair.

Sometimes Eddie would come home after a day of boring, tedious classes in the Tech wing, only to be greeted by Richie in his sweatpants, crouched over his SNES with a controller in his hand. He would be playing either Street Fighter II or Mortal Combat II or Super Metroid, all with the volume on full blast nestled with the occasional grunts from Richie's lips. It was nearly impossible to study, especially with how Richie drank and crunched chips and got drunk next to him.

Even when he wasn't blasting title screen music or playing his Godawful music, he'd be throwing little balls of paper at Eddie or be singing a little ditty under his breath--anything to get Eddie to yell at him. He'd consider it an accomplishment.

One night, after an extremely stressful, boring lecture in Digital Design, all he wanted to do was to flop down on his bed and sleep. Once he got to his dorm, however, a message on the whiteboard outside greeted him:

GO 2 STANS. BUSY.

This wasn't the first time he was greeted with this. For half of the past thirty days, Richie had that message outside. He didn't include any crude details or reasons why Eddie couldn't come in, but he'd only assume, and honestly, he was being selfish. It was time Eddie showed him a piece of his mind.

He prepared, though. He moved his hand over his eyes as he scrambled for the door knob, edging it open slightly as he listened in to see if anything sketchy was going on.

"Jesus! What the fuck are you doing?!" he heard Richie say, moving around in the dark room. He could see a light through his hands, but by the time he came in and closed the door behind him, Richie was still cursing him out. "Eddie, go to Stan's. I'm busy."

"My hands are over my eyes. I can't see," he stated, although the room was so dark he probably wouldn't be able to see anyway. "I wanna sleep, Rich. It's late, and frankly, you're being pretty selfish."

"Eddie, my dick is in my hand. Can you please leave?"

"No! I'm sleeping! Just be quiet. I really don't care," he spat, venom in his voice as he sat down on his bed and laid down. He was always wearing sweatpants nowadays, so he just took his shirt off and flung it on the floor before laying down. He stretched out and nestled into the comforter, trying to forget what Richie might be doing next to him.

"...You don't?"

"No. Just shut up," he grumbled, finally finding a good sleeping position. "And don't be too loud."

This was an awkward situation, and he knew that, but an even worse situation would be sleeping in Stan's room, where they stayed up all night and smoked pot. He just wanted to rest, and if he had to hear the occasional slap or hushed moan, he really didn't give a shit.

"Fuck, okay," Richie said, hushed, and he rested in his bed. He was laying on his back--Eddie could make that out--and he still had his blue T-shirt on. His sweats were scrunched around his ankles and his knees were up, his dick indeed in his hands. Eddie closed his eyes, trying to forget about it.

If this was what Richie considered quiet, Eddie was glad he gave him the warning. It was obvious he was trying to muffle it, but every so often he would grunt or his hand would make hard contact with his cock. It was the only sound in the room, other than his raspy and hushed breathing. A minute in, Richie admitted, "You know... Is this really weird?"

He grunted in response.

"Shit." He spat into his hand, making the sound slightly louder and even more annoying. It got to the point where Eddie was surprised when Richie stopped. He heard him sit up in bed, which caused Eddie's eyes to snap open.

"What're you doing, Rich?"

"Can I... borrow your Durex?" he slurred.

He groaned. "Yeah, fuck. It's in my drawer."

"Which drawer?"

Something about that sent Eddie over the edge. Maybe it was the long day he had at class or the sign on the door or Richie's loud masturbating, but he had it. He was done. He'd snapped. He rolled out of bed and, in the darkness, ripped one of his drawers open. There was the bottle of Durex, waiting for him. He grabbed it.

"Eddie, what're you--" His voice cut off as Eddie approached him, frustration in his eyes as he sat down at the edge of the bed, leaning over Richie's lower half.

"Do you want me to get it over with?" he snapped, still gripping the bottle in his hand. "I just want to sleep."

Richie gulped and stared up at him with big, confused eyes. He was hopelessly exposed--his knees still up and his torso propped up by his elbows. He thought for a moment and then murmured, "Uh--"

"Do you want me to jerk you off?"

"Yes. Okay. Sure," he rambled, panic on his face and blush on his cheeks. It was the first time he saw confidence fade in Richie's expression. "You're not... drunk, are you?"

He squeezed a dollop into his hand and ran it through his fingers, staring into Richie's eyes with a slight deviance. "I wish."

He slid forward, straddling Richie, but placing his thighs on either side of Richie's cock. It was almost against his lower abdomen. He gripped it harshly and stroke too quickly at first, and then unbearably slow. When Richie started to make slight noises out of the corners of his mouth, Eddie snapped for a second time that night and covered it with his hand, turning his moans to murmurs.

"Can you please be quiet? It's 11 fucking PM," he whisper-shouted, still stroking Richie disgustingly slow. "The last thing you want is Stan walking in on you cumming in my hand."

Richie must've said something snarky, but it was muffled by Eddie's hand.

"Wait... Have you been waiting for this to happen? Did you want me to walk in on you?" he said, the words practically flowing out of him. He'd held his grievances in for the past thirty days, and every second he was growing closer to snapping, and now it was happening. "Is that like your--Ew, fuck you," he growled after feeling Richie lick his hand. He moved it away to reveal Richie's devious smile. He won.

Eddie moved his other hand away and kept stroking, quickening the pace. Richie was making a lot of noise now, almost to the point where he was honestly trying to be a bother.

"You didn't have to do this tonight. I was so busy today and I'm gonna be busy tomorrow... You're so selfish, you know that, right?"

"Uh huh," he moaned, that stupid smile still on his face. "You're really good at this."

"Wow. It's almost like I have a dick."

"Grab my tissues," he said, tilting his head to the desk next to him. Eddie leaned over and grabbed a bunch, his eyebrows lowered and his hand still pumping Richie's dick.

"You finish fast."

"It's a gift," he said, choked and huskily. Eddie felt the other move his hands to his lower back, pushing him closer to him. "Fuck... your hand--"

"You better give me a warning," he said through gritted teeth, quickening his pumps and almost pushing grinding against him. "I really like these pants."

"Then take them and--"

He didn't know what compelled him to, but he slapped Richie, across the face. It wasn't hard, but it was quick, and it shut Richie up pretty fast. He stared at Eddie with big, surprised eyes, a look of shock on his face.

"Just focus on my hand," he huffed, "And shut. The fuck. Up."

"I'm gonna... I'm gonna cum, Eds."

"Right here, sweetheart," he said, jerking him off faster until he was rewarded with a loud, broken groan and satisfying release.

Sweetheart.

He slid off of Richie, who was still panting, his eyes wide and confused. Once he got to his feet, his hands covered in lube and jizz, he murmured, "The bathroom. I'm going to the bathroom." Richie watched as he left the room, still wide-eyed.

"Hey, Eds--" He was cut off by the door slamming shut, surrounded by darkness and quiet. Richie started to clean up, using the tissues and discarding them in his near-overflowing garbage bin. He closed the lube and sat it back down on Eddie's dresser, every inch of his skin covered in sweat. Once he was finished, he stood over the dresser, his hands leaning against it, his head down. He was lost in thought and post-orgasmic bliss.

It was a weird night.

They didn't speak to each other for two days, five hours, thirty minutes, and twelve seconds. Then, one early morning, Eddie was awoken by his face being slapped by plastic. He woke up suddenly, only to see that Richie threw a granola bar wrapper at his nose. He was smiling at him from his bed, wearing only polka dot boxers.

"Good morning, sunshine. Sleep well?"

"...Why'd you do that?"

"You told me you had an 8AM class. It's 7:50."

"What?"

"Yeah, stupid. I wasn't gonna let you oversleep," he said, watching as Eddie scrambled to get dressed.

"You couldn't have woken me up earlier? Were you just watching me sleep?"

He smirked. "Maybe. Or maybe I was kept up all night by your snoring."

"I don't snore." He paused. "Do I?" He struggled to shimmy on some old sweatpants. He looked and felt terrible.

"You talk in your sleep, too. It's always about, like, stupid stuff. Like, 'Stop, you're gonna break that,' or 'No, my mom made that for me.' That kind of stuff."

"Well, thanks for the conversation, but I have to go," he snapped, throwing his backpack over his shoulder and shooting one last glance at Richie as he left. "Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

"You know what I'm going to do," he laughed. Something about that made Eddie blush profusely, with a bunch of dirty images dancing through his head. His first thought was, of course, from the other night, and all he wanted to do was hear those moans again, anyway he could. "I'm gonna play some Street Fighter."

Oh. That worked, too.

"Maybe you can verse me when you get back? I'm tired of Stan always beating--" He closed the door and walked down the hallway.

Class was boring and long, as always. The kid who sat next to him in the lecture hall kept chomping his gum obnoxiously, blowing bubbles before letting them dissipate onto his face. The girl on the other side of him was texting the whole time with her long acrylics, making that annoying clicking sound for an hour and a half. He couldn't ignore it either, because even listening to the teacher drone on for another minute would've given him a hernia.

He saw Bill after class, sitting on the bench outside the lecture hall. He was sitting with a pale girl with short, red hair, wild and covering her forehead. She was wearing a floral sundress, one she swept under her thighs and played with the sleeves of, and he was wearing double denim. He looked like such a tool.

"E-E-Eddie, was it?" Bill asked, struggling a bit with his name. "You're Richie's roommate."

Eddie stood in front of them, exposed and awkward, his hands holding onto his backpack straps tightly. "Yep. He's one hell of a... a roommate."

"Well, this is B-Beverly."

She gave him a little wave, her hands dainty and nails painted bright red, matching her hair. She had a perfectly white smile, one that would catch your attention and force you to gawk at it. Her name was Beverly Marsh, apparently.

"I'm in the dorm next door. You're Eddie?"

"Yeah. Photography."

"I'm Performing Arts. No classes today," she smiled, a string of hair falling in front of her face. "I honestly love it here."

"Me too," Eddie said mindlessly, still thinking back to the other night. He hadn't even brought it up with Richie. Was it too late to talk about it? Is that just what guys did in college? Why did he do that? "It's been pretty fun, but I, uh... I'll catch up later. I gotta get back to my room. You know, studying and... stuff."

"Don't let R-Richie drive you crazy," Bill snickered, turning back to Bev and their conversation. They didn't suspect anything.

He got back to his room around noon, a good time for a quick cup of ready-made oatmeal, when he was greeted with Richie at his normal position. He was hunched over his TV-set, aggressively smashing buttons as he played his video game. He didn't have pants on, but luckily he was wearing some boxer briefs and a slightly-oversized T-shirt. He was blasting music through his stereo.

Eddie entered and dropped his bag on the floor, analyzing the situation in front of him. He could bring up the other night or he could just ignore it and eat some food, relax, wait for the next class. He could also sit around and silently watch Richie play, which he somehow found enjoyment in.

"Hey, Eds, why're you looking at me like that? See something you like?" he said snarkily, hitting his buttons harder with every passing minute. He snapped out of his trance and sat down on his bed, thinking still.

"I'm just hungry."

"I got some Reese's cups in the cooler."

"That's not real food." He sighed and finally decided to spit it out. There was no reason to avoid it. "So, about the other night--"

"Wait, before you say anything," he said quickly, "Let me just finish this round."

He was being, to put it bluntly, insufferable.

"Richie." He almost never used his name, especially to his face. "I want to talk about the other night."

He didn't pause the game, and he was somehow getting more concentrated. "What is there to talk about? It already happened."

"What? Does Stan walk in here sometimes and give you a handjob?"

"Ugh, I wish. But no. That guy's too much of a pussy."

"I don't know. It just feels weird."

"You feel weird? You slapped me and nearly choked me and my dick just got harder. I'm more confused than you, buckaroo. I'm like, seventh-grade-see-tits-for-the-first-time confused. I don't know why my dick's tingly."

"I hate you."

"You see! Are you trying to get me to suck your cock?" he laughed, but there was some weight behind it, like he rehearsed it.

"Ew, no. Shut up."

"You know why they called me Trashmouth in high school?" He was smirking at the TV, his voice suddenly low. A million thoughts filled Eddie's head and all his blood descended. "Because I always made dirty jokes. What? Were you thinking something nasty?"

"No--"

"All I'm saying is, I bet you want me to suck your dick," he said, laying one final punch before winning the round. "Am I wrong?" He turned to face Eddie, whose face had noticeably drained of color.

"...I--"

"I bet you want me to take you down to your base, and choke on your dick, and then bob my head like this," he laughed, bobbing his head like a pigeon on the sidewalk, "And just let you fuck my mouth, right?"

"What do you get out of talking to me like this?"

"Hopefully your dick." He smiled and turned back to his game, playing the next opponent. "So, no. I don't want to talk about the other night. I already made up my mind." And that was that, before his mouth twisted into contained laughter and broke into obnoxious squeals, laughing harder than Eddie thought was possible of a person. "You should've seen the look on your face!"

"--Huh?"

"What? Did you think I was serious?" Richie laughed, smiling wide as he returned to his game. "You're pretty weird, Eddie Kaspbrak, Photography."

Eddie didn't know how to respond to that, or to any of this, for that matter. Richie seemed unbothered, getting more and more interested in his game. Eddie almost half-expected him to stick his tongue out and furrow his brow, but alas, he didn't. He walked behind him and pulled out the cooler from under his bed, rummaging it for the Reese's cups.

"So you changed your mind?"

"I-I don't know--"

"No," he paused the game and turned around, "About the Reese's. You changed your mind?"

Eddie's eyes were wide and his skin flushed of color. He looked like a deer in headlights, standing over the cooler as he pulled out the peanut butter cups. "Yeah, they're not so bad, I think."

"Hand me one, then," he said, extending his hand. Eddie placed two in his hand, letting his fingers drag along his palm ever so slightly. He didn't necessarily mean for it to happen, but he caught Richie smiling at him, and this time it wasn't so devious. "You know, all I've been eating is Subway and Reese's for the past three months."

"So that's why you look like that."

Richie slapped him on the side of his stomach, causing him to jump slightly as he bit into his Reese's cup. "It's a good diet! I look great."

"You look like you crawled out of a shower drain."

Richie bit into his cup and licked his lips before turning back to the game. "I need two bottles of vodka by tomorrow night. If you can drive down and pick them up for me, I'll repay you," he said in a sing-song voice, batting his eyelashes. His face fell into a smirk and that deviance returned. Goddamn it.

"I'm not 21. And neither are you."

"Ask Steve. He's the cashier. He might think you're a little older than you are," he said, winking. "And tell him that he owes me fifty dollars for groceries."

"You don't buy groceries."

"He doesn't know that." Richie paused the game and put down the controller, turning back to the other, who was sitting on Richie's bed. "And if you do this for me, I'll make sure to repay you, like, a thousand times over, alright?"

Eddie heaved a deep sigh, finishing off the Reese's cup. "Sure. Whatever."

Why was he doing this? What did he have to gain from it? For all he knew, Richie was probably yanking his chain and wasn't even going to "repay" him, whatever that meant. He gave him money--Now that he thought about it, did Richie even go to class?--and sent him on his way to the Bangor liquor store on Washington Street.

It was a trashy, tiny shop in the side of a mini-mall. When he entered, getting out of his little Mini Cooper, there was a short, dark haired guy behind the counter, smoking a cigarette. He glanced up at Eddie and put out his cigarette butt in the ash tray, watching as Eddie approached the cashier.

"Hi, I, er," he nearly muttered, trying to piece together the words. "Can I get two bottles of... uh Smirnoff vodka?" He sounded like he was trying way too hard, and he definitely was.

"Can I get some ID?" the cashier asked, his eyes low. It had to be that guy Steve.

"Uh, do you know Richie Tozier?"

The guy stared at him with his dark eyes, his eyes still low and sunken. He was chewing on something and seemed bored, yet deeply interested, as if he was trying to read Eddie. "No. Can I have some ID?"

Eddie went through the motion, taking out his wallet even though he knew he was definitely below 21. "He, uh, said you owed him fifty dollars... for groceries."

The guy's mouth rose from a bored frown to a smirk. "How about this? Two bottles, and you get out of here and tell him to go fuck himself."

Eddie was more than surprised at that response--he half-expected his mouth to fall agape. "Uh, sure. Yeah."

The guy turned around and pulled the two bottles off the shelf, bagging it as he went. Eddie stood there awkwardly, tapping his fingers against the counter as he watched. He peered up at Eddie and smiled. "You go to the same school?"

He nodded. "Yeah, MalArts."

"What's your major?" He rung up Eddie's bottles. "No, wait, let me guess. Photography."

"Oh! How'd you... How'd you know?" he said, almost nervously.

"Dude, he called me beforehand. I'm just messing with you."

"Ah. Well, fuck you too, then." He picked up the bags and slung them over his shoulders for support before letting them fall to his side. "Listen, when Richie said groceries, I know that asshole doesn't buy groceries. Is that, like, cover for something?"

"It means exactly what you think it means," and he left it at that.

Eddie held the bottles between his thighs as he drove, making sure they didn't spill or fall to the floor. He couldn't believe he actually got away with it, and he couldn't believe Richie would send him on an errand, build it all up as this grand plan, and then find out it was safe by default. That smartass.

When he got back to the dorm, he had learned by now to always knock beforehand. Richie always left helpful little hints on the door, but sometimes Eddie would walk in on him in the middle of a heated Street Fighter match verses Stan and he didn't want to deal with it. Nonetheless, he pushed open the door with his hip, holding the bag with his opposite hand.

"Hey, Rich, I got the stuff," he said, distracted, kicking off his shoes as he closed the door behind him. It was around nine PM--all his classes done for the next day or so--and the dorm was eerily dark, except for the glow from the TV screen. Richie was sitting on the floor, remote in his hand, wearing only a bulky Capcom sweatshirt and striped boxers.

"Thanks, sweetheart. Put it in the cooler."

Sweetheart.

Eddie did as he was told, for the first time since he got to this God-forsaken school, and bent over by Richie's bed. He pulled out the cooler and slipped the bottles inside, rubbing his arms as he did it. Tonight was an unusually frigid night, especially for early September. "Is there a heater we can turn on?"

"Nope. They don't turn on the heaters in summer," Richie muttered, flicking the channel from whatever commercial it was on to a Spanish cooking show. "God, I wish we had cable."

Eddie sat down on Richie's unmade bed, examining the curled and folded blanket underneath him. He wrapped it around himself, although he was sort of cautious about the cleanliness of it. "Alright, where's the payment? Are you finally gonna let me sleep peacefully?"

Richie turned his head to him and smiled, his eyes dark and illuminated by the cold glow of the television screen. "About the other night. I wanted to return the favor."

His skin grew uncomfortably hot.

"Like... Okay. In what way?" he said, watching as Richie slowly turned to him, now sitting in front of Eddie, who was still sitting on his bed.

He slowly slunk his fingers along Eddie's thigh, trailing it to his lower abdomen. "Like, in an oral kind of way."

Eddie snorted, but it came out slightly wavy and nervous. There were two ways he could go about this: lie and say he definitely didn't want this to happen, or pretend this was normal and continue on with it. Either way, he wouldn't show any resemblance of gratitude. It was just business, he assumed. "Okay, sure. Go ahead. Make my day."

With that, Richie pulled down his sweatpants to his ankles with reckless abandon. Eddie watched as he practically tore down his briefs and stared emotionless at the slightly hard dick in front of him. "Eds, you're shaking."

"I'm not shaking," he said, offended. There was no way he was going to admit anything about his sex life, if it was even a thing or not. Maybe he was nervous, but who wouldn't be. Richie looked nervous too, although his body knew how to control it. It didn't matter--he could see it through his eyes.

He wrapped his hand loosely around his cock, giving it a few slow tugs. "This is just payback, by the way. Just so we're even." He said it more like a plea for mercy or a business decision than something erotic. It sounded more like a drug deal than fellatio.

"Oh yeah, of course," he said quickly, nodding. "I'm glad we--"

His breathing hitched when Richie licked slowly around his head, causing him to exhale sharply. He was taking his sweet, precious time with Eddie, licking here and there whenever he so desired, until Eddie felt a slight pinch and saw Richie was giving him a love bite on his thigh.

"What happened to 'just payback'? You promised that like ten seconds ago."

"You really wanna fuck my mouth, huh?" That shut Eddie up fast, leaving a speechless sneer on his mouth as he tried to compose the last bit of dominance in his stature. He wasn't about to crumple in front of his pathetic mess of a roommate.

He teased and licked and sucked little bites into the side of his thighs until he was hard enough to look uncomfortable and impatient enough to prove it.

Eddie watched him, only slightly uncomfortable by the weird angle, but more uncomfortable because of his growing need for... anything. Any form of friction, other than a few quick seconds on his--

And then Richie took him down to his base, his eyes closed and face nestled into Eddie's crotch, holding his knees apart. He threw a hand to his face, covering the obscene moan that escaped his mouth as he bucked his hips slightly. He half-expected his eyes to roll back. There was too much attention given to one place, and all Eddie could do to change his situation was hold Richie's head in place as he rolled his hips.

Richie's hands moved from Eddie's knees to his lower back, almost pushing him closer as he bobbed his mouth forward and back, a smile on his face as he did it. "You fucking bitch," Eddie breathed, rolling his hips slower and deeper as he stared up slightly, his eyes closed.

Richie backed off and stared up at Eddie, lips still moist and nearly dripping. "Do you want to cum down my throat or--?"

"Fuck yeah," he groaned way too quickly, desperate for that tight heat around him again.

"Alright, cowboy, calm down or you'll be cumming in a sock tonight." He backed up even more, smirking at Eddie with a shit-eating grin. It was sinister and insufferable.

"Just finish me off."

He grinned deviously again. "I don't know. I have to think about--" but he couldn't finish his sentence. Eddie's fingers were interlocked in his hair again and he was back to his dick, letting Eddie fuck his mouth. He wrapped his arms around Eddie's lower half in order to get a grip. There was no way Eddie was going to let him get the better of him, especially after having to deal with him for over a month.

"If I have to deal with your--Fuck," he slurred, letting that knot form in the base of his abdomen. "Oh, you fucking wh--You fucking--" His breath ran dry and empty, rocking his hips slightly. There were more dirty thoughts in his head than stars outside their window, and every one was even peachier and rose-colored than the last. He had to keep reminding himself that this was, like, a repayment, and not something that could continue.

Something about that made his lips frown, but he didn't know why.

It took him a moment to realize Richie wasn't touching himself at all--both his hands were wandering Eddie's body, in some place or other, whether that be his lower back or his hand, grabbing tightly to his palm and rubbing tiny circles into it. It was hard to tell if he was enjoying this.

He hoped he was.

Eddie was close, and he would give him a slight warning, but it would be slurred and too moan-y to be legible. It didn't matter--He finished and Richie slowed to a halt, giving him one last lick before swallowing and backing off, wiping the spit off his lip.

Eddie panted, his fast breath descending further and further until it was normal, feeling his heart rate return to average levels. He felt high, like there was no way this could end, and then Richie broke the silence.

"Why're you looking at me like that?"

Shit. He was making eye contact with him the whole time and he didn't even realize. Should he be honest? Honesty was for priests, and he definitely wasn't a priest. "I'd never done that before."

Richie was quiet before he smiled wide. "Yeah, I could tell. You were squealing like a pig."

"I was not," he stated, shoving Richie lightly on the shoulder. "I wasn't as loud as you were."

"What do you mean? I had your dick in my mouth."

"No! The other night." He laid down on the bed and Richie sat next to him, taking his sweatshirt off. He had beads of sweat rolling down his face. "I don't know why I--"

"Okay, you know I'm gay, right?" Richie said bluntly, staring down at Eddie next to him.

"Yeah, of course I know."

"Good, because we, like, never really established that. You didn't come in here saying, 'Hi, Eddie Kaspbrak, Homosexual.'"

"I came to art school and I had the sneaking suspicion something like this was gonna happen, but I tried not to get my hopes up. Then the opportunity rose and--"

"Uh huh. Yeah. I gotcha." He laid down next to him, staring up at the ceiling.

"You're not one to really talk about your feelings, huh?"

"Nope," Richie said, biting his lip. "I'm keeping it all here." He beat a fist against his chest.

"Tell me what you're thinking about. Right now."

He sighed, "I want to sleep."

"Oh. That's new--"

"With you."

Eddie stared up at the ceiling, his hands in his lap. "Like... What do you mean, 'sleep with'?"

"Not like that, dumbass. I want you to sleep in my bed."

"Oh. Well, yeah. I could do that."

In a minute or so, Richie had his head on his pillow, with Eddie next to him, hugging his torso tight. He was laying his head on his chest, resting his hands on his abdomen and wrapping his legs around him, warm and content. They weren't asleep yet, but they were in that weird place between sleep and being awake, where neither of them would even think of speaking to one another.

Before falling asleep, Eddie heard Richie sigh, "I love my life."


	3. Make Me Dumb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: implied sex and heavy (unnamed) drug use/drinking

They were only in one class together: Intro to Color Theory. Not surprisingly, Richie was really good at sleeping straight through the class. Meanwhile, Eddie just couldn't grasp any of the concepts. That was when Eddie finally found out Richie may not be as stupid as he thought.

He would come home from class, lost and confused, receiving low marks for work he definitely did on time. He'd sling his bag by his bed and sit down, puzzled and frustrated, as Richie slipped inside behind him. He'd have his Walkman shoved in his pocket, the music so loud you could hear it without putting the earbuds in.

"I don't even know why we gotta take that class," Richie groaned, sitting down at his usual position in front of the TV, plugging in his controller. "It's the easiest shit. Orange's the opposite of cyan, yellow's the opposite of blue..."

"How do you remember that?"

Richie looked up from the console and stared at him with wide eyes. "Are you seriously having issues with color theory?"

"Sometimes. I take the notes and--"

"You take notes for Color Theory?"

Richie was smart. It was hard for Eddie to admit it, but when he heard about Richie's academic record, he was taken aback. He was an all-A/B student, although he didn't study or pay attention--he said he spent all of senior year asleep--and he still passed the tests, albeit with Bs usually. However, he was the most underachieving lunatic Eddie ever met. Before tests, Eddie would be scrambling to remember his notes while Richie would be lounging around, reading magazines.

"What's even in those magazines?" he'd ask.

He'd say, "Funny stuff," and leave it at that.

Even Stan studied, and Stan was destined for the Dean's List and every honor society there was. He got better grades than Richie, but he worked his ass off for them. Whenever he would run into Eddie's dorm, asking for writing materials, and see Richie taking a cat nap, he blew steam out of his ears.

Eddie never even saw Richie's artwork until he walked in with a huge cardboard box, dropping it on the carpeted floor with a thud. Eddie watched from his desk, confused when Richie tore open the top and pulled out a few painted canvases. They were beautifully painted portraits, except a few were abstract landscapes and one was a painting of Ryu from Street Fighter. Richie would look at them and sort them into two piles. All of them were put into one pile, which he threw in a garbage bag, and the surviving one was the Ryu painting, which was hung on his wall.

"I've been thinking of dropping out," he'd say, hauling the garbage bag out of his room. "I'll do it one day."

Now it was early October--two weeks since the oral presentation--and Richie was looking at him funny almost everyday. Today, however, when Eddie came back to the dorm, Richie was at the door with his backpack on, ushering him right back out the door. "Come on, pal," he said, smiling, "We're going on a field trip."

"Uh, what do you mean?"

"I mean, we're all going to the Falls, and you're coming with me." He ushered him down the hallway before Eddie tore his arm away. He smiled down at the other, who was visibly frowning. "What?"

"What do you mean 'we'? And what are the--"

He was cut off by Stan's door opening. Stan, Bill, and Mike all walked out, talking about something or other. Bill and Mike were laughing way too much for their own good and Stan watched on, peeved and pissed. When Stan saw Richie and Eddie in the hallway, his brow only furrowed more.

"You're bringing him?" he said, concern and a hint of venom on his breath. "I don't think that's a good idea, Rich."

"Why not?"

Stan rolled his eyes and dragged Bill by his collar, pulling him down the hallway as he laughed at something Mike had said. When they disappeared out of view, with Mike following behind them, Eddie turned to Rich. "What's going on?"

"Every first Saturday of each month, we go to the Falls. It's, like, a family tradition, but for friends. A friend tradition. It's very art school," he laughed, continuing to walk down the hallway. Eddie reluctantly followed him. "We sit by the waterfall, we talk about our dreams, we drink... It's relaxing."

"You're lucky I'm not busy today.

They took a minivan to the Falls and packed into the back seat. Stan drove, because God only knew what Richie would do at the wheel, and Eddie sat in the passenger's seat. Stan's reasoning was that if they crashed and died, Eddie would die first, and he wouldn't have to see all their corpses.

"Fun," he responded, and left it at that.

Behind him was Richie, Mike, and Ben, who barely fit into the bench. Richie wasn't wearing his seat belt, and instead was leaning on the door, his legs out and over everyone's laps. Eddie hadn't met Ben up until this point, but he seemed nice enough. He used to play football in high school, and it was tragically obvious. He didn't look like an art kid.

Behind them was Beverly and Bill, who sat in the back seat by themselves. He assumed they were a thing, and a cute thing at that. She'd shove him playfully and he'd make a joke and then they'd kiss, and they wouldn't even be off the campus yet.

"Rich, Eds took your spot," Mike said, smiling. Richie rolled his eyes and kicked the back of Eddie's seat.

"Damn straight."

It took them half an hour to get to the Falls and Eddie didn't say a single word for half of it. He used to be so talkative in high school. Feeling by yourself usually stunted you like that.

When they pulled up to the scene--a cliff overlooking a waterfall--the contents of the backseat began to seep out. Richie opened the door for Eddie, although he really didn't have to, and Stan was talking about sun screen or something. There were too many conversation to really make anything out.

"Do you like to swim, Eds?"

"Don't call me Eds."

"Fine. Do you like to swim, sweetheart?" he said through mocking, gritted teeth.

Sweetheart.

"I dabble in it from time to time," he gritted back. Richie smiled and laughed, shoving him lightly on the shoulder. "You should go swimming. You need a bath."

"Hey, I took a shower yesterday." Richie snapped, "It was perfect. Almost golden."

"That's disgusting. That's absolutely--" He was cut off by the immaculate scenery in front of him. There was a large, rolling mountain range in the distance--pretty and purple and red with rock, the occasional tree sprinkled throughout. Below was the clearest water he'd ever seen (he could practically see the bottom) and a roaring waterfall that was covered in a cloud of steam. The other teens were spreading out towels and blankets out on the green.

"It's nice, right?"

"I'm not forgiving you for that golden shower joke, if that's what you're asking."

"You don't have to. It probably hit too close to home." Eddie rolled his eyes and stood there awkwardly. He didn't notice Richie making his way over to the towels until he called him over. "Hey, short stack! Are you spacing out or what?"

"Fuck you," he sneered, following after him and sitting down on one of the blankets. They'd been there for five minutes and Stan was already playing poker with Bill and Mike.

"So, you've never played Poker before," he restated, nodding slightly. "You start with five cards--" He began sending out cards, before Bill stopped him.

"S-S-So when do you show your cards?"

"When you showdown."

"So do I gotta s-shoot Mike?" Bill asked, which made Mike smirk.

"No, no. You show your cards and the highest value wins the pot."

"We didn't b-bring p-p-pot this time."

Stan lowered his eyebrows and finished distributing the cards. "Bill, you know what I mean."

Mike asked, clocking his head to the side, "When I have one card left, I say poker, right?" Bill nodded, smiling.

"No, Mike. Whoever has the highest value--"

"No, he's right, Stan. He knows what he's t-talking about."

Stan bit his lip before taking their cards and reshuffling them, much to their dismay. "Fuck it. You wanna just play war? Whoever wins can put me out of my misery."

Ben turned on a stereo, which played a low copy of some pop band from the late 80s (Eddie couldn't quite place it). Beverly sat next to him, bopping slightly to it, while also watching the card game before her.

Richie and Eddie were the only people not doing anything in particular, besides sitting cross-legged next to each other. Eventually, Richie moved in and joined the card game, but every so often he'd cheat, or yell, or sneak cards into Stan's deck, so he was quickly disqualified from their escapade.

Eventually, and although Eddie didn't quite know the reason, he took his shoes off as he glanced at the cliff. The waterfall was way off to the side, by a long, rapid river. The water below was deep, but clear, and he couldn't see any rocks when they first arrived. When Richie had his back turned, he rose and bounded off to the cliff, jumping off, completely clothed.

He wouldn't have seen it, but Richie dropped his cards immediately onto his blanket, and his mouth fell right open: "Holy shit."

The water hit him like a hard slap to every inch of his skin. It swept over him until he was surrounded with the murky blue, rising to the surface with a mighty gasp of breath. He saw Mike and Richie looking over the cliff side.

"You fucking idiot!" Richie yelled, but he was smiling wide. He saw him leave the cliff's edge before leaping off after him, shouting and waving his arms as he descended. Luckily, he'd taken off his Doc Martens and sweatshirt.

He plummeted almost on top of Eddie, splashing him with heaps of water. When he arose to the surface, he wiped his eyes and waded in place, smiling wildly at the other.

"It's not that cold."

"No, not at all," he laughed. He didn't have his glasses on, either. "I fucking hate Maine, and its stupid weather, and... stuff."

"Wow, more words of wisdom from Richie Tozier." Richie splashed him with the murky water, and Eddie splashed back in retaliation. "Quit it!"

"Quit it," he mocked, splashing him back. He looked different without his glasses. It wasn't bad, but it was definitely... different. His curly hair was flat again his head. "You're cute when you're mad."

"And you're ugly as shit."

"Whoa there, Eddie-bear, you can't throw that word around so harshly. I might think you mean it."

"I do."

"You didn't think I was ugly two weeks ago."

That made Eddie's face blush into a deep pink. He smiled slightly, but it wavered as it grew. "Fuck you."

Richie was quiet, but he was still smiling. He took his hand, squeezing it lightly between his thumb and palm, and leaned over to whisper in something in his ear. He couldn't quite make it out.

He leaned back and said louder, "We should probably go back to the cliff."

Eddie nodded.

The night was winding down around 10 PM and the group was sitting around the stereo, talking about absolutely nothing and drinking absolutely everything. Nobody was drunk, but even Stan could admit they were slightly tipsy. They were probably still up to drive--at least Stan was, since all he drank were wine coolers.

They were discussing the rules and regulations of a game of Truth or Dare.

"Stan, truth or dare," Bill said, smiling. Eddie felt like a schoolgirl at a sleepover, but it's not like he ever went to a sleepover, or was invited.

"Truth." Stan was such a pussy.

"What's the grossest thing you ever put in your m-m-mouth?"

Stan gulped down another sip of wine and rolled his eyes. "I... Huh. I think I ate a caterpillar once, when I was younger. I thought it'd taste like noodles."

"What'd it taste like?" Ben said, sipping a Miller Lite.

"Mushrooms," and he left it at that. "Beverly, truth or dare."

"Dare," she said, her eyes sharp and unwavering, her smile just a hint devious.

"Hold your breath for a minute."

"That's lame," she sneered, rolling her eyes. She did it anyway, but lost after thirty seconds, before gasping dramatically. "Shit!"

"You know what that means," Richie sang, sipping his wine cooler, "You gotta do another dare."

"No it doesn't."

"Yeah. If you fail a dare you do another one."

Stan shook his head. "If you can think of another dare, I'll suggest it."

Richie was silent.

The truths and dares traveled around the group like a virus spreading over its host. It plagued everyone, making drunk, idiot, teenagers do the stupidest shit for entertainment. It was fantastic, and when it finally got to Eddie, he was surprised to say the least.

Bill was the one that asked it. "Eddie, truth or dare."

"Truth."

"Uh..." He didn't expect that, and he didn't have a question ready. "I'll open it to the f-floor."

"Ask old reliable," Beverly suggested, putting down her beer can.

Bill nodded. "Eddie, how's your virginity?"

"In tact," Richie snickered, leaning back on his arms. "I mean, look at him."

"That's a lot coming from you," Eddie said, lowering his eyes. Richie made eye contact with him and smiled a warm smile, his lips tight. "And yeah. I'm a pretty, virginal flower. And so are half of you, so shut the fuck up."

"Bill isn't," Stan said, raising his eyebrows. "And I'm pretty sure... Richie...?"

"The amount of pussy I've had," he said calmly, "Is innumerable. I'm like a dog in heat."

Eddie was quiet before sipping his beer. "You know what they say about dogs?"

He turned to him, his eyebrow cocked. "What, Eddie? Enlighten me."

"Barking dogs seldom bite."

Richie's face flushed away its expression and went pale, but his eyebrow was still raised. "What would you know about dogs?"

"I mean, I live with one."

The game continued for a few more minutes until they collectively agreed they were all out of questions. Richie hadn't said a single word for the remainder of it, but he continued to drink his beer. When they were all relaxed, Mike pulled out a small bottle of clear liquid as he was greeted with yips and hollers.

"Finally," Stan murmured, smiling.

"What is that?" Eddie asked, leaning over to Richie.

"It's, like, this root stuff. You add it to your drink. It's wild."

"It's, not, like... heroin, right?"

"Dude, do you drink heroin?" he asked, slightly concerned.

They passed around the small, clear bottle, pouring it into their drinks, until it got to Richie, who took a shot of it.

"Richie, this isn't the typical stuff," Mike reasoned, raising his eyebrows.

"Whatever." He was in a pissy mood, for whatever reason.

The rest of the night was a drunken, tipsy blur. Eddie's vision started to float and quiver, with random flashes of color. But soon, everything from his hands to the grass looked like a renaissance painting. The colors were brighter and the moon was shinier, and there was this deep, passionate happiness in the bed of his stomach. He felt like screaming and crying and laughing all at once.

He remembered Richie turned to him and smiling ridiculously wide before laying a hand on his thigh. "Hey, sweetheart, you wanna get out of here...?"

Sweetheart.

"Sure..." he said back, his mouth practically falling into a smile. He felt like doing everything and anything he could. He felt like going out and fucking around with a bunch of friends forever. He felt so weird.

They didn't take a car--they walked back to campus. Eddie didn't exactly know where they were going, and neither did Richie, so it took a little over three hours to get back, according to the clock in the dorm room. That fantastic feeling in his stomach was still there, and he felt like screaming and laughing and crying with joy.

And when he saw Richie and his bed, he felt a growing tightness in his lower abdomen.

"Fuck, that was fun," Richie laughed, sitting down on his bed. He was humming loudly, but it wasn't a sound. It was more of a throaty whimper, almost a growl, as he laid down on his bed. The room was dreadfully dark, but Eddie could make out his outline. "I'm so fucked up! Haha."

Eddie limbered over to him before propping himself up over his chest. "You're so... stupid."

"Yeah, fuck."

"I've been..." He laughed brightly, "Dreaming about it. The other night." He wasn't making any sense, and he absolutely adored it.

"You're so pretty. So, so, so, so pretty," he slurred, wrapping his legs around Eddie's lower back, pushing his crotch closer to his. He pushed him and retracted, forcing Eddie to grind into him. He obliged. "I wanna do it again, but..."

"I wanna..." he slurred, "Fuck. I wanna..."

"Then do it," he laughed sloppily, struggling to unbuckle his pants. "Fuuuck me, bitch."

"Maybe I will, biitch," he groaned back, pulling down his shorts. "You fucking biiitch."

"Biiitch!"

He didn't remember a lot from that night, but he did remember that brief conversation, and he did remember his chest being against Richie's, his legs around Eddie's back, guiding him. He was practically forcing him to go all in every time, his nails digging into his back. He was constantly talking, although Eddie couldn't remember about what. And he remembered his tongue being caught in his throat, his mind wandering to a far off place, not really absorbing anything that happened.

He remembered the darkness, the night, and how he could barely see and probably looked so reckless in his position, but he was groaning and he couldn't stop. It was like that little chain that held back his thoughts and his words had suddenly snapped. Richie whispered something in his ear, and he said something back, something about how close he was, asking if this was alright.

"I love you inside me, I love you inside me--Holy shit, I'm out of shape," Richie breathed into his ear, his rather bulky arms wrapped around his back. "Fuck, I love you." He sort of growled it, like it came from the bottom of his throat and he was coughing it out.

He slurred back, "I love you, too--You fucking... You fucking--"

And then Eddie woke up with Richie's arms around him, his back to Richie's chest, in the morning. The birds outside were chirping daintily, as if the world was PG and cheesy and rose-colored. The window was slightly open, letting in the cool air over Eddie's skin. His blanket had swamped to around his legs and although he still had a T-shirt on, his pants had seemingly disappeared. He had on socks, though, if that helped.

Eddie hadn't fully registered what happened, but he felt like shit. It was like waking up after a shitty nap in the afternoon--He felt groggy and fuzzy, trying to piece together what happened. His eyes widened when he finally realized where he was.

His eyes wandered to the analog clock next to them: 2PM, Sunday.

He groaned and moved his arm out and behind him, slapping Richie on the side of his thigh. "Rich. Come on. Wake up."

He groaned under his breath, but he didn't wake up.

"Rich, wake up. It's past 2." Eddie sat up, letting his legs hang off the side of the bed. He stretched his back before letting himself crumple, letting his hands fall into his lap and his mouth fall open into a yawn. When Richie didn't budge, he slapped him again on the arm, not turning to his body to look at him.

He rose and found his pants, which were still on the floor, and suddenly felt pain on his right forearm, like a bruise. His eyes wandered to it sheepishly before going wide, seeing a medium-sized tattoo on the inside of his forearm.

It had to have been a daisy, with intricate lines and shadows, but it wasn't colored. It was just the lineart, and his skin had turned a vibrant red. There was plastic wrapping around it, but the wrapping had fallen to the floor beside him.

A dreadful thought inched into his brain. He turned to Richie, who was now sleeping on his chest and had his head buried in the pillow. "Richie, let me see your arm."

"Hrm." He shuffled in his position, resting his face further into the pillow.

"Richie," he said bluntly, leaning over his body and pulling his arm out from under it. "Flip over your arm."

He drowsily did as he was told, and there Eddie saw another medium-sized daisy tattoo.

"Rich."

"Hm?"

"Did we get matching tattoos?"

He saw Richie's eyes snap open as he quickly rose, checking his arm with shock and wide eyes. He looked from his arm to Eddie's, and then back to his arm, and then back to the other's. "I think we did more than that."


	4. Horror Business (Recorded 1979)

They hadn't spoken for weeks, or at least until Halloween.

Eddie would come back to the dorm and see Richie actually studying, or listening to music with his Walkman, the volume dialed all the way up. He wouldn't pay any attention to him. If Eddie asked him anything, he'd nod or give a one word response and then carry on his way. Richie didn't say one thing to him for those few weeks, at least until a few days before Halloween.

He was sitting in front of the TV, playing--you guessed it--Street Fighter II, when he asked Eddie, all of a sudden, "What are you going as for Halloween?"

It took Eddie aback slightly, since the dorm room had heard only a few whispers for the past month and it honestly felt a bit out of place. "Oh, well... I don't really dress up."

"Well, that doesn't help. I need ideas," he said, his voice almost monotone, as if he were hiding something behind it. "I wanted to do a group costume, but no one wants to do one with me, and even if they did it's still a dumb idea."

"Why don't you goes as, like, a really easy one? Like, I don't know. A zombie or something."

"I was thinking one of the classic ones." He paused the game and leaned back on his hands, biting his lip. "How about a werewolf? I haven't shaved in a few weeks. I'll just grow it out a bit more, throw some fangs in... All set."

"Great."

"But that doesn't answer my question," Richie said, lowering his eyes at Eddie, who was growing slightly nervous at his desk. "What are you going as?"

"I told you. I don't dress up."

"You're gonna dress up, especially if we go to a party. You're not about to be the first art school kid to go to a fun Halloween party in some underdeveloped getup. You gotta put your blood, sweat, and tears into it, Eds." He thought for a moment before rising and grabbing his jacket off his bed. "Come on. We're going to Spirit Halloween."

"Right now? We have a project in Color--"

"We have a project right now! An important one! A spooky one!"

"I've never dressed up before," he said, rising from his chair, albeit reluctantly.

"Well, we're all about first times here," Richie sneered, his eyebrows lowering. It sounded like he said it through gritted teeth. "You're frustrating me. Come on. We're going." Eddie could see the flower tattoo slip away as he put on his windbreaker. "We're not coming back until you decide on a costume."

"So, wait," he said, putting on his jacket as he followed Richie out in the hallway. His voice got quiet. "Are we going to talk about that night?"

"What night?"

"After the Falls."

He didn't look at Eddie as they walked, a long, palpable pause between them. "What is there to talk about?"

"What is there... not to talk about?"

"Did you like it?" Richie muttered, finally looking to his side.

He gulped slightly, although he didn't mean to, "I mean, yeah."

"I did, too."

When they finally got to Richie's red Ford Bronco, Eddie finally realized what he meant when he hadn't shaved. His hair was long enough to be put into a haphazard bun, which he had pulled it into at some point, and his five o'clock shadow had deepened slightly. His blue eyes were wide and awake, yet somehow relaxed, peering through the lenses of his thick-rimmed glasses. Eddie buckled into the passenger seat.

"No classes today?" Eddie asked sheepishly, trying to make conversation.

"None I care about," he retorted, putting the car in reverse as he drove out of the parking lot. "I was meaning to tell you--"

"What?" He was unabashedly curious, and there was only one thing on his mind that he wanted to talk about.

"I was thinking about, like... I don't know. College isn't really my thing."

"Oh."

"Like, all the stuff I do here I could just do at home. It's holding me back."

Eddie thought it over. There was this deep sickness developing in his stomach and he couldn't quite place it. On one hand, he'd be getting rid of his insufferable roommate and he could finally get some work done. On the other hand, he was about to let someone special get away, even if he couldn't really understand why they were special to him. He glanced down at the flower tattoo.

"I don't know what to do about this tattoo," he said, changing the subject.

"Get it removed."

"Is that what you're gonna do?"

He sneered, giving him an incredulous smile. "Uh, yeah? Probably. Why not?"

He didn't know why, but that made the sickness grow more. It felt like he was being punched in the stomach over and over, but he didn't want to accept it, especially if Richie was being so calm about it. "Oh yeah. I just have to... save up, you know?"

"Mm," he muttered, and left it at that.

They drove for about half an hour before the mini-mall came into view. It was another store previously--that was obvious--and there was one of those inflatable arm guys outside that you would usually see outside of a car dealership. Richie had this stupid smile on his face the entire time they were pulling in.

Cut to 12PM, Aisle 4. Eddie was thoroughly confused.

There had to be hundreds of costumes in this store, and more than half of them were slutty travesties of Halloween's iconic creatures. He half-expected Richie to offer him a Slutty Nurse costume, but he resisted somehow. He was beside him, searching for something "inconspicuous", as Eddie had put it. He wanted something that wouldn't make him look like he cared all that much.

"So you never dressed up for Halloween?"

"My mom didn't like it. Too dangerous?"

"How so?" He pushed a few hangers off to the side, peering at a ragged Scooby Doo onesie hidden in the back.

"Oh, I don't know--Getting hit by cars, pedophiles, razors in your candy, weed in your candy, AIDS in your candy... The Pagan and Satanic roots, cults, scary--"

"Okay, I get it. You're a pussy," he laughed, raising his hands up to stop him. "But now you're an adult and you can make your own choices."

"This wasn't my choice. You dragged me here."

"Oh, yes. I'm so sorry. You fought me tooth and nail to come with me to Spirit Halloween so we can have a fun outing and escape from college life. How evil of me. I apologize." His eyes suddenly brightened and he ran down the aisle, leaving Eddie behind.

"Hey, buddy," he said slowly, following him down the aisle. "Where are you--"

"I have an idea!" he called, rummaging through a bin at the end of the aisle. "You want something inconspicuous, right?"

"Right..."

"Here." He pulled out two sets of fake vampire fangs from the bin, a small plastic bag of fake blood stapled to each. "Wear on of these, get a white T-shirt, cover it in blood. Vampire. Done."

"The amount of chemicals in--" He stopped himself when he realized Richie wasn't listening. He was too busy running to the checkout, wallet in hand. Eddie followed suit.

By the time he caught up, Richie was already handing the older woman a few five-dollar bills and a couple of loose quarters. He had a smug look on his face like he'd somehow won something, and every so often he would give Eddie a dull side glance. "There's a party on Halloween, if you wanna go."

"Do I have a choice?"

"It'll be fun."

"I'm sure it will," he said, rolling his eyes. "I have a lot of homework, though, 'specially on weekends."

"You'll get it done. I know you. And if you don't, I'll do it for you," he said, dumping the purchased goods into a tired plastic bag. "Who knows. Maybe you'll actually have fun for once in your life."

They exited the store and returned to Richie's Ford Bronco, his goal achieved.

He was already being dragged into this, but now he had to wait for Richie to be finished doing whatever he was doing. He was waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall, hearing Stan and Bill argue in the other room while he could only wonder what was happening in his own dorm.

Eventually, Stan stormed out of his bedroom, wearing a white T-shirt and faded blue jeans. He would usually dress rather formally, at least more formal than the rest of them, but today he was wearing the most basic outfit Eddie had seen him in. "What're you supposed to be?"

Stan groaned and turned around slowly, revealing his back, where a few quarters were stuck to it using clear tape. "A quarterback."

"That's so dumb."

"I know," he said, turning back around. He was wearing his glasses still, so at least he was trying to raise the appearance of formality. "Bill wanted to do pun costumes."

"What's Bill--" he asked, but he was quickly answered when Bill came out behind him, holding a small basket of citrus fruits. He had "Life" written on the front of his white T-shirt with a thick Sharpie. Eddie groaned, "'When life gives you lemons'?"

Bill smirked, pleased as punch.

Stan broke the conversation. "Okay, where's Rich? He wanted to put this whole thing together." He finally laid his eyes on Eddie, who was wearing his bloody T-shirt and fake fangs, which somehow fit quite comfortably in his mouth. "Vampire?"

"Yeah. Richie made me do it." He rapped his fist loudly at the door. "Rich, come on."

Just as he did it, Richie emerged from the dorm room. He had done almost no work to his face, except putting the fangs in and putting his hair up in a loose bun. A ratty flannel was wrapped around his chest and cheap wolf claws he picked up at Spirit covered his hands. That was the extent on his Halloween ensemble.

"Can you hold a cup with those?" Stan asked, pointing to his claws.

"Probably," and he left it at that.

The party was at another campus--a gigantic school north of Bangor, where the most of Maine Greek life occurred--at a particular fraternity house that Eddie didn't know the name of. When Richie pulled up his car at the end of a long trail of other vehicles, Eddie didn't know which house the people were flowing out of, but there were a lot of folks. Some didn't even look like they were older than sixteen. He pretended he didn't notice that.

Ben and Mike had chosen to stay in for whatever reason, and Eddie had an endless desire to find just what that reason was. Maybe the excuse would work on Richie.

Richie leaned toward the back seat. "Hey, Bill, who do you know here again?"

"Me? I thought y-you did."

"Oh yeah. I lied." Richie unbuckled himself and kicked open his door. "Whelp. No one'll notice."

When Eddie was little, probably around nine or ten, his mother had let him dress up. Once. He wouldn't be allowed to trick or treat for a variety of reasons, including but not limiting to his allergies, health concerns involving eating too much candy, contaminated food, pedophiles, and explosives that might be disguised as Milky Way bars. He was to report straight home after school, and if he wasn't home within ten minutes of the bell ringing, his face was probably going to be on a milk carton.

His mother obliged to let him choose one costume under $20, and if he received any candy at school, he would wait until he was home so she could check them. He wanted to be something cool, or at least something that would make up for all the years where he was cheated out of the Halloween experience, but instead he settled for a skeleton, without the mask. All his mother had to do was buy the onesie from Kmart and Halloween was a go.

By the end of the school day, however, Eddie had overheard everyone's trick or treating plans three times over. It was starting to really grate on him, especially since there was no way for him to join, unless he did something risky, and did something risky he did.

Instead of going straight home after school, he thought brushing up on a few of the nearby house wouldn't hurt, especially since they were on the way home. He made out with about ten pieces of candy before a familiar car pulled up in the driveway of one of the houses, and Mrs. Kaspbrak stepped out, her fists gripped tight and her face flushed red. She was fuming, and that was the first time Eddie's mother ever hit her son.

"Hey, Eds. You look like you've seen a ghost," Richie laughed, nudging him in the side of the ribs. "Can you light the fuck up?"

"I just want to get this over with."

"It's a party. It's fun. You ever had fun?" They got to the front yard of the house, where someone was passed out in a bed of begonias, vodka sliding out of his throat and into the dirt. "And it's a Halloween party. Those are the best parties there are."

"Mm," he murmured, stepping through the front door, pushing past a crowd of people. "What do you even do at parties?"

"Socialize. You've done that before, haven't you?" He placed a firm grip on Eddie's shoulder. The touch made his skin stand on end and blood rush to his face, heating up every inch of skin from his collarbone to his forehead.

The house was packed from one wall to the other, filled with college kids and kegs and clouds of marijuana. It smelled disgustingly alcoholic, like every surface was doused in a bottle of warm whiskey and vodka. It made him gag a bit, but he ignored it. This was Halloween, anyway. It was supposed to be scary.

When Eddie finally looked at the person touching him, he noticed that Richie had already started drinking. He must've been looking to get drunk fast.

They made their way to the back of the house, and then up a flight of stairs, and then into a den, where a dozen or so people were talking about God-knows-what. Stan and Bill had seemingly vanished, but within these smoke clouds of burnt pot and huskily sung music from the radios, Eddie felt just as lost. They sat down on a leather couch as Richie passed him an orange solo cup.

"Happy Halloween." They clicked the cups together bitterly before letting the bitter, warm liquid flow down their throats. They sat in silence for a while before Richie continued, "I fucking love Halloween."

"I can't relate, but--"

"Yeah, I know. You don't like fun."

"My mom never let me celebrate."

"Why?" He took a sip of his drink. "Religion?"

He shook his head slowly. "Sorta. Yeah. I guess you could say that."

"You're eighteen. You're an adult now. You can do whatever you want." He smiled warmly and messed with Eddie's hair, tussling his fingers through it. "The next ten years are the best years of your life! You gotta stop acting like you're a teenager."

"I am a teenager."

"In principle, sure, but in practice? We're at that ripe age where we're treated like adults but we can still be stupid. It's perfect, and I honestly don't understand why you aren't as stoked as I am." He tugged off his arm coverings and tossed them to the side. "These are dumb. I don't know why I even bought them."

"I feel like everything I do with you would get my mom pissed."

"What? Having fun?"

"Drinking, getting tattoos, doing drugs..." His voice trailed off, but it didn't slope in volume. "Fucking."

"Well, you said you were getting the tattoo removed."

"So did you!" Eddie snapped, a bit louder than he wanted to.

"I don't care," he said finally, waving his hand. "It's not like it's my first tattoo."

"Elaborate."

Richie rolled his eyes, glancing at the other people either moving out of the room or falling asleep on the couch. He grabbed at his shirt from the back, pulling it up and over his head. He gestured to his back where a small, detailed flower tattoo was inked at the top of his shoulder blade.

"Is that a rose?"

"No, stupid. It's a gardenia."

"What's a gardenia?" He watched as he dragged the tightly snug t-shirt back over his head.

"It's a flower."

Eddie narrowed his eyes. "When did you get that?"

"When I graduated."

"So," he paused, "What does it mean to you?"

He shrugged. "Nothing important. But I don't care. I like it." He glanced down at his arm. "It's cute."

The room was basically empty now and someone had closed the door on their way out. It was an empty, warmly lit room, packed with two leather couches, some side tables, and a TV on the wall. It was a den, Eddie assumed, and this honestly felt like the beginning of a p--

"I'm taking my shirt back off. It's hot," he groaned, pulling it back over his head. A chill went up Eddie's spine. It definitely felt like the beginning of a por--

"Holy shit, dude! Someone left, like, a whole pillow case of candy here." He pulled a random pillow bag out from the side of the couch and opened it, his eyes going wide. "Fuck yeah. Snickers."

Nevermind.

"You want anything?" He practically stuck his head in the bag, pulling out a few candy bars and dropping them on the floor. When he found a majority of Milk Duds and Junior Mints, he threw the bag up and over the couch, pissed. "Somebody already got to the good stuff." He sat slightly and pulled a remote out from between one of the cushions and turned on the box television. A black and white foreign film came on and he was unable to change it.

"I'm gonna go get a drink," Eddie said suddenly, rising from the couch. Richie gave him a look, cocking his eyebrow.

"You're coming back, right?"

"No. I'm gonna leave you here and walk home. What do you think?" He left the room, hearing Richie make an offbeat comment behind him. He ventured down the steps and found a cooler in the living room surrounded by other party inhabitants. He bent over and grabbed a cold water bottle, bringing it to his lips.

When he finished around half of it--he somehow had started to sweat--he spun the cap back on and headed back up the stairs, finding the den they had been in before. "Rich, I didn't know if you wanted a water, so I got you one anyway."

"Fantastic." He was in the same position as before, but a bit more slouched. It was a French film, he assumed, and it might have been a horror movie, but he couldn't quite make it out. He chucked him the ice cold water bottle, letting it hit his chest with a wet slap. Eddie sat down next to him, sipping it slowly.

As he sipped, he could feel the awkwardness in the room increase and somehow Richie was being almost silent. He turned his attention away from the screen and towards Richie, only to widen his eyes.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he spat, noticing the other's hard-on. "Why now?"

"It's a French film. The girls don't wear bras in those," he lied, continuing to sip his water bottle. "Sometimes you can see right through them."

Eddie rolled his eyes and rose from the couch, making his way to the door. He locked it and turned his head, sending Richie a look that could kill. "Do you wanna do this?"

"Do what?"

Eddie moved closer and sat down on Richie's thighs, straddling him against the couch. "Guess."

"...Fuck?"

"I'm impressed, but not surprised. I knew this was your ulterior motive."

"You think I'd think that far ahead?" He began pulling out his vampire teeth before helping Eddie do the same.


End file.
